when writing a poem
write the words down that come
of themselves without stopping them
without editing them even if you don’t like them
and stay with them let them sit there in all their awkwardness
in all their unfitting-ness in all their un-cleverness and crassness embarrassing
to behold, let their uncomfortable – ness be, breathe their unfitting – ness, explore how they don’t fit, find how something is being hidden or explained away in their expression that makes them uncomfortable, probe it, become intimate with it, don’t turn away from it, smell its armpits, feel its hideous contours, run your tongue over its acrid bits and find the words which call them their own names, name them, and care for them like your own new born children

… the bottom of the page is ROOTS, man, solid stuff down there; however I designed the last line to extend way beyond the usual boundary – it was supposed to read extendingly right … I don’t think it worked but I’m still pleased you followed wherever it lead …

… Mark; remember …

"... the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe to find ashes."
~ Annie Dillard

I am the "little armored one", moving gently through life. Hoping to safeguard my sensitivities with layers of words and the expression of thought. Shielding my mirror neurons at times, or tasting music and spinning till I'm dizzy. Every moment here is a gift.